Spider Revenge

It took me awhile to get over that weed eating ruckus last week. (click HERE for a recap, in case you missed it) I figured, spiders on my leg, that's pretty bad and probably doesn't happen all that often.  I thought, that's probably all the eight-legged encounters I'll be having for some time now, because what are the odds of two horrifying arachnid incidents happening within a week of each other? Well, I guess the odds are higher than I thought, because yesterday when I went to put the mail in the mailbox the following horrifying ordeal occurred:

 

SCENE ONE: It's a bright, shiny morning as I reach to open the Schmit Home Solutions mailbox to send a few friendly letters on their way.

SCENE TWO: When said mailbox is opened a gigantic eight-legged beast emerges from the dark depths of the box, furiously gnashing his teeth and probably saying something like what I've shown in my comic. Of course, I can't be certain what he was trying to communicate to me, because I do not dabble in spider speak.

SCENE THREE: My eyes open wide, my hair stands on end, and a small scream erupts from my mouth. This can't be happening, what type of ungodly beasts are these things? They lie in wait for me around every corner. (I don't think I'm being that dramatic, am I?)

SCENE FOUR: Mail flies into the air as I run from the mailbox of doom. The hairy monster giggles, knowing he has won this round.

Eventually, when he was done laughing at me, Jason came to my assitance and used his bare hands to sweep the spider out of the mailbox and onto the ground. We then jointly made the decision to let him live. As long as they're outside, I think that bugs should be given the simple right to live. Plus, when they're working how they're supposed to, spiders eat a lot of other creepy crawlies that I'd rather not come into contact with. 

This story does have a depressing ending, though, because when I went to take the mail out to the box this morning, the eight-legged avenger was back! Seriously. The same spider, and he was erecting a nasty little web  in the front of the mailbox. I decided then that he had to die. I feel some remorse for the squishing death that was inflicted upon him, but I can't have something like that sneaking up on me and nearly causing me to go into cardiac arrest every morning.